love and technology

i remember the first sony walkman my mom got us for christmas, must have been around 1981. it was a little cassette player with metal headphones and orange spongy pads on the ear parts. it was cool and compact, and though we used it till we wore it out, i don't remember anyone being particularly impressed by it.
several years later, i saved up enough to buy a more streamlined version-- hardly larger than a cassette, with the added coolness of an auto-reverse function, so that you'd never have to take the tape out in order to listen to the other side. this was a cool development, along with the puzzling yet high-tech dolby noise reduction feature.
the first cd i remember seeing, around '82 or '83, was owned by a brainy kid named dwight who came from another school and sat near me in band. i resisted the technology, happy with my tapes. in college i finally broke down and purchased a cd player at circuit city, on sale for something like sixty dollars. the first cds i bought were prokofiev's piano concerto number three and a clannad album called macalla. my friend beth sat with me in my house listening to the sparkling sounds, and later our friend stephen brought some of his cds over-- kate bush's the dreaming sounded so clear and sharp, and my appreciation for cds grew from there, evidenced by a fast-accumulating collection.
the first car cd player i had was bought in reno, nevada in 1998. later that year i got a gateway computer with a cd burner on it. making compilation cds made my collection of tapes almost obsolete. i remember burning iris dement's "hotter than mojave in my heart" and thinking it was the coolest thing ever-- i could follow her up with "ham 'n' eggs" by a tribe called quest, and follow that with tom waits. the thought of burning cds burned a hole through my mind. it seemed like technology had come a long way in a short amount of time.
tonight i spent four hours downloading 115 songs onto an iPod shuffle. i am amazed that the voices of callas, cash, bjork, stipe and the orchestrations of mozart and so many others can all be contained inside this tiny piece of white plastic which has the most minimal dial on it, for volume and track control. there is something vaguely terrifying about how tiny and efficient it is, almost as if it reduces the importance of the hours of work that went into each song it contains to an infinitesimal megabyte. and i know there is a practical, technological reason that all these voices and instruments can fit inside this small piece of plastic... but it boggles my simple mind to think about it. it's nothing new-- i mean, how did they get voices to come out of vinyl? and tape? it's all amazing if you think about it. but this development, this lightweight, seemingly inconsequential plastic device seems excessively space-age to me.

i have hesitated to mention nic, my friend who gave me this iPod, who sold me his computer (the one that brought me back to blogging), and who has spent many fine hours with me.
why have i hesitated to mention him?
well, i suffer from the superstition that to acknowledge a joy in life allows for the possibility that the joy may soon depart. a few times in the past, when i have allowed myself to indulge in these joys, i have basked in bliss only to be let down by its eventual absence. but i don't believe that we should live our lives in suspension from joy simply in order to avoid future pain. and so i mention nic now.
he's originally from taiwan and is a student at the university here. we met 5 or 6 weeks ago and hit it off right away. he went to thanksgiving with me at my sister's, where he dealt well with my family, as far as i could tell.
a few specifics: though he doesn't care for mexican food, it's not that he actually dislikes it; he is a gadget person who loves new toys; when i told him i liked chet baker's "i fall in love too easily" he gasped ecstatically and began to sing it. we saw the wallace and gromit movie together, and then a couple weeks later, the harry potter movie. i really like spending time with him.
everything in life's temporary, ephemeral. sometimes our joy or agony can make things seem permanent... but nothing is. so why not mention your joys, in order to enjoy them more fully, while they last? that's what i'm doing.
i want to take this opportunity to thank nic, whose birthday is coming up, for his generosity, his childlike enthusiasm, his wisdom, and for bringing me some relished and ephemeral joys.
in regards to technology, i am amazed. in regards to affection, in all its forms, no matter how permanent, i am quietly, appreciatively astounded.